Today, at the breakfast table, I had the most interesting conversation with the 9 year old. She was inquisitive about why most of what we do in life doesn’t revolve around us despite it being given to us as our own. Her case was simple, if life is what we deem it is, we must make the most of it— that is with the share that we supposedly have, without being overly concerned about the judgment of people around us. But this simple argument of hers left me wondering about much more than it apparently suggests. I did not know what to say really. Life, I wanted to tell her, is not as simple as it may appear to a child. But i didn’t, because i was not sure of it myself. I have never been sure of what life really is. Perhaps life is as simple as a child would like to think of it, but as we grow older we tend to complicate it, like we tend to complicate everything else associated with it. I don’t know. I never will. I think.

My children; how they bewilder me at times with their seemingly innocent questions.

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This blog, as a reflection (however shoddy) of its creator, is mostly about her, people around her, things that she's passionate about or not for that matter; among other things.
This is where she practices her writing.